


Memory Lane

by Slyboots



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Dark, Deconstruction, Disturbing Themes, Female Friendship, Feminist Themes, Gen, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Rare Fandoms, rating: R - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:13:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slyboots/pseuds/Slyboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Beverly, dear,' said Kay in glass-cutter tones, 'you can’t tell me you don’t remember.'<br/>'I don’t.'"</p>
<p>Sooner or later, every girls' night in--the adult version of a slumber party, really--brings up the subject of sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory Lane

**Author's Note:**

> I worry about you, Beverly. I worry a lot.

“Beverly, dear,” said Kay in glass-cutter tones, “you can’t tell me you don’t remember.”

“I _don’t_.”

The night exhaled. A breeze dense and choking-hot, summer-hot, swept over them. Their glasses

_(just two little ladies, drunk as lords)_

rattled on the marble-top table.

“I don’t,” she insisted.

She heard in Kay’s pause her own heaving stupidity.

“Was it _that_ bad?”

Beverly laughed a little, in spite of herself. To spite herself.

She sat up, breathing dry grass and sour pool-water and asphalt baking in that fine country air. Her bruises reined her in. They wrapped round her ribs like a corset.

“It probably wasn’t much. You remember high school. Hell—” Beverly shook her head. “You remember Sam. Don’t give me any happy horseshit about the Total Woman, Kay, I mean it.”

( _you remember_ )

“The only Total Woman _you_ know,” said Kay, “is a lingerie line. Gift-wrap for your titties. ” She fanned herself, her face slump-serious. “You can say it, you know. ‘Put a cork in it, Kay. You’re an interfering old battleaxe—’”

“Well, not in so many words,” said Beverly.

_(the fruity smell of rot on a hot summer’s day)_

_Memories are mirages,_ she thought with the easy idiocy of the drunk. _Get close to them and they’re nothing but gaudy colors and a bit of disappointment. Memories are—_

_Memories are_ what _? I think you’re snockered, Bevvie—_

Her father’s voice floated seamlessly through hers.

Beverly felt her face tighten, felt Kay’s gaze like an accusation.

_(what was his name o what was that boy’s name)_

“That’s it,” said Kay. “Last call at the bar. You’ve had enough.”

“Not hardly.” Beverly reached for a cigarette. “If I’m going down Memory Lane—”

_(it’s a bad place)_

_(it leads straight home)_

“Bev. I’m half-sorry I asked.”

_(the smell of expected rain, or maybe remembered rain)_

“I really don’t remember,” said Beverly. “That sounds terrible, but—”

She expected Kay to fight, to protest.

Kay sipped her Chardonnay. “It does. It sounds terrible.”

( _slutchild_ )

She sucked cheap smoke. “I guess I was young,” she said at last. “I guess I was really young.”

Kay looked away.

Guilt crept up her, rising slowly, ever so slowly. “I wasn’t raped, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’d remember _that_. Swear to God.”

It was so easy to say. _I wasn’t raped._

“I hope you would, Beverly,” said Kay flatly.

_(does he ever touch you)_

“All kids experiment.” She gestured, hands thick and senseless, tongue numb. “It’s just—I guess it’s natural. You get to a certain age, and bam, the girls are getting pretty, and the girls are getting titties, and the boys are getting shitty.”

_(the smell of the dump, and the smell of the sewer, and pretty little pussy)_

_(the best smell in the world)_

_(experimenting)_

“I wouldn’t _let_ anyone—”

“Nobody thinks she’d _let_ anyone.” Kay grimaced. “It’s the human condition. You sit there, with those things Frank gave you—”

_(Daddy)_

“Kay,” said Beverly, her voice light with anger. “Knock it off.”

Cigarette smoke streamed up to the sour polluted stars. The haze between them quivered with each breath.

“I don’t want to convince you of anything,” said Kay. “You can sit there on your buns and tell me nothing funny happened—”

_(don’t bring this up, don’t bring it back now, you almost got away)_

“ _Kay_.” She sucked air. Her bruises hugged her tight.

“If you say you went along with it, that’s great, that’s fine—”

For an instant some deep well of pus, some hot soul-boil, throbbed up. For an instant she hated Kay.

“I think it was my idea,” said Beverly quietly. “I think it had to be.”

(slutchild)

_(Momma told you about boys later, and you nodded, and you already knew)_

_(Beverly and whosis, sitting in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-N-G)_

“How old were you?”

“I don’t know,” said Beverly, a soft half-silent cry of despair. “I really don’t know.”

**Author's Note:**

> The sex scenes in IT left a very bad taste in my mouth.


End file.
